Everyday as I cross the stretch from Chandamri
to Guwahati Club, my head turns to the right robotically when I pass by the
place what at one point used to be my home, my playground.
It is a strange feeling, it
always has been. What used to be a home filled with people roaring with
laughter, whiff of good food in the air and kids running helter skelter all
around is now filled with strange and unknown faces.
If I could go back in time or had
a rewind button, I’d love to go back to those wonderful growing up years I
spent in our Silpukhuri ghar.
I secretly nursed some amount of pride
for living in such a beautiful house. This feeling was an acquired one though.
In school, often not only my classmates but even their parents would tell me,
“Oh! You stay in that beautiful house? It is palatial”!
Guwahati was a small during those
days, with a handful of people. It seemed everyone knew where I stayed without
giving them directions or a landmark. Rather our house was a landmark of sorts
for most of them.
I have faint recollections of
Koka, who was addressed mostly as Tarun Dodaideu or Momaideo. Koka was one
person who liked everything right on dot and down to a tee. With Koka around
you, you actually did not require a watch or a clock showing you the time. His schedule
was such; you’d know its 3.00 p.m when he would come out and sit in the
varendah waiting for this post-nap tea. Or it’s 7.00 p.m when he had his
pre-dinner tea.
Every morning I would be
intrigued with his three sets of magnets, which he used as a therapy. I was
particularly fascinated with the smallest of three, a pair of black magnets
which he’d keep below his ear lobe, on the either side of his neck. My turn
would come once he was done and I thought those magnets would relieve me from
my tonsils and I could savour ice-creams to my heart’s content.
Koka was also a reservoir of
stories and jokes. It was so much fun hovering around him. No matter how much
mischief we did, he never raised his voice or scolded us.
And one fine day he left us. By no means could I comprehend why people were
mourning and grief stricken. I wondered why Koka had to go, leaving us behind.
I
wish I could have spent some more time with him. It surely would have been a
great learning experience.
Aita is the woman
who made me what I am today. Mostly Usha Khurideu or Mamideu to one and sundry,
she had an ageless endurance, a quality I’d like to imbibe.
We kids were
terrified of her. She was so Hitler-ish! But now I realize how important it was
on her part to be like that. Somebody had to take control and pull in the
reins.
Aita had a green thumb and was an
avid gardener, be it flowers or vegetables and fruits. Sirikanto (spelt
Srikanto!) her Man-Friday I know despised me to some extent and in great
measures. I would have done the same if I were in his place. It’s not amusing
to have a wild child running around the kitchen gardens, poking the buds of
cauliflowers with little fingers, watering the plants so much that it would be
muddy and eventually never live long enough to bear fruits and flowers!
So Aita came up with a great
plan. She asked Sirikanto to make bed for me and with his help; I sowed
tomatoes, carrots, eggplants and peas. Never did I care to bother the other
vegetables again and till this day I find plants and flowers very soothing.
Aita is the one who let me
discover the joys of baking too.
I don’t remember having best friends
in school as such, because Silpukhuri Ghar was always filled with kids all the
time and who needed to search for friends outside when we were a bunch of
cousins spending a whole lot of time together, playing games and pranks mostly,
sharing secrets (some are there till today) and even bathing together.
We were a bunch of super mischievous
kids, always with a wound on the knee or forehead or mud all over clothes. And
this bunch had its share of nasty fights, groupism, best friends, favoritisms
as well. Pomi, Maini, Pallav, Montuli, Niki, Viki, Nirmali, Abhi, Annu & me
teamed with Baby & Raja (our neighbors) was definitely a motley crew; a
dirty dozen!
If I had to manage such a group
it’d surely give me heart attack! I truly appreciate Aita’s patience in
tolerating us and the ruckus we created when we all would be together. So
yelling at us was but natural!
Growing up together has been
truly wholesome. That was more than two decades ago. Now all the communication
happens through phone calls or social networking between this gang, one on one.
I wish our kids had a chance to meet and mingle like we did.
When I tell stories of my
childhood to my daughter, she gazes at me in awe and all this is like a fairy
tale to her. My girl by now knows who is who, through photographs I show her in
Facebook or by the stories she has heard and a few she has met too.
This is my ode to the wonderful
memories I have, to the people I have grown up with and to my lucky stars to be
alive and tell this tale.
And I know I will ceaselessly
treasure these memoirs until and unless dementia and Alzheimer's hit me. And in that case my girl will
retell me these letting me relive the moments again!
Koka - Grandfather
Aita - Grandmother
Dodaideu - A father's younger brother
Momaideu- A mother's younger/elder brother
Khurideu - Wife to father's younger brother
Mamideu - Wife to mother's younger/elder brother
